


The right bride

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [30]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After Joffrey's death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Dancing, Diverges after 4x2, F/M, Fluff, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime makes a deal with his father and successfully frees Tyrion. In return, he has to marry Margaery Tyrell. At a feast soon after the alliance has been fixed, he seizes an opportunity to dance with Brienne instead of his betrothed. And they have a conversation.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 21
Kudos: 133





	The right bride

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff, it is. Again.  
> And thanks, as always, for reading and commenting :)

“Would you oblige me with this dance, my lady?”

The wench turned to him. Stiff, and wearing an expression of pain as if she’d been forced to don a garb of thorns, she was a picture of discomfort, the sapphire-blue gown, although a perfect fit, doing nothing to refine her stance. “I don’t dance.” 

Categorical and firm with her denial, she had sealed all doors, but Jaime wasn’t one to give up at the first taste of rejection. “The music’s still playing.” He took a step forward and she, one backwards, but that didn’t deter him. “Just one round. To your good fortune, this happens to be the last. So you won’t have me bothering you after that.”

“I told you I--”

“I insist.” He held out his hand. “With a whole crowd watching, would it be appropriate to deny me, Brienne?”

Her lips twisted in what could be construed as a disapproving half-smile. “Traces of arrogance still remain a part of you, Ser Jaime.”

Choosing not to take it as more than her momentary irritation and aversion for social occasions, he grinned. “Do I take that to be a _yes_?”

The half-crescent of a smile remained, but she didn’t deny him, nor did she try to escape his company. So she did feel _something_ for him. While not comparable to the strong pull he’d been experiencing towards her, the deeply passionate and ever-growing-- he didn’t know what name to give it-- she didn’t seem to be far behind.

Just as he hoped, falling prey to his perseverance, she rolled her eyes and took his hand.

“Congratulations, Ser Jaime,” she said, when they fell in line with the other couples. “Lady Margaery would make you a suitable bride indeed.”

Locking hands, they began, surrendering to the tune, matching steps with everyone else. “You think so?”

He caught an odd flash in her eyes but it was gone, the next second. “What I think doesn’t matter.” She paused when they glided across to switch sides. “But I must say your decision rather surprised me.”

 _Just surprise?_ “It was my father’s wish, not mine.”

“And you?” Her voice was a warm whisper in his ear when he drew her close. “What is your wish, ser?”

He looked deep into her eyes, but before he could answer, the change in arrangement required them to shift to other partners and he found himself in line with a pretty girl who couldn’t stop staring at him. Farther, the pattern of the steps took Brienne from him; every second away from her was torture, every person between them an irksome obstruction. She had thrust a loaded question at him and slid away, and while the answer was quite simple, he couldn’t get around to it without knowing her heart.

“I presume your interests lie elsewhere,” she resumed, when they reconnected. “How is it that you have consented to this wedding?”

“My interests don’t matter much unless--” _you wish to be mine_. “It is in my brother’s interest that I act, my lady.” His eyes flew to his brother sharing a drink in a corner with Bronn. Tyrion, free of shackles and breathing the clean air again, was worth anything in this world.

Brienne let her eyes skim past a few couples. “Your wife-to-be is dancing with the future king.” Jaime found her looking at Margaery who was partnered with Tommen. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Why would it?” Jaime twirled her around and drew her in his arms, distracting her from their surroundings, pulling her attention back to him. “I happen to be dancing with a woman who isn’t her.” 

That Olenna Tyrell had his father locked in a battle to wriggle out of this alliance wasn’t news that had yet trickled beyond their family. The crafty woman wished for her granddaughter to wed the future King himself and not the one-handed Kingslayer, and Jaime knew she’d do all in her power to switch grooms for Margaery.

Her eyes wore a sheet of curiosity and so much more. “And would it not bother her to find another woman in your arms?”

“Look at her, wench.” He let his fingers caress the callouses on her palm. “Look at how she glows. It is my nephew she seems inclined to wed, but my father is bent upon making her the Lady of Casterly Rock.”

A sharp breath escaped her, the sparks back in her eyes. “And what might you think of that?”

“Why do you ask again?” This was his moment, the faint flashes of displeasure and envy told him the fire burned within her, too. “Would my lady be miffed with my predicament, my future bride? Do I detect a note of jealousy?”

Brienne coloured, then put some space between them. “Not at all. I merely wished to know the type of woman that would capture your fancy. For a man who keeps away from the prettiest of my sex, sparing none of them a second glance except--”

“Except?”

Her eyes trailed off to Cersei as the last leg of the music began to play. “The one who resides in your heart.” 

His fingers pressed into her waist. “And would you be jealous of _her_ as well _”_

With a slight quickening of her breath, she said, “Not at all.” 

“Really?”

She didn’t answer, but looked away and they danced in silence for a while, the soft curves of her waist supple and pliant beneath his fingers, her bosom gently rising and falling as they moved.

When they switched positions with the neighbouring couple, her agitated eyes were back on his. “I pity Lady Margaery for she’d have to put up with you.”

He had been right all along. She wasn’t just jealous, she was burning. There was more than just _something_ deep down within the iron exterior. All he had to do was break open the wall and enter.

“ _You_ have done me the favour of putting up with me for months, wench,” he teased, keen to win this round. “So I don’t see why anyone else can’t--”

“I’m different.”

 _Yes, you are. That’s why I fell in love with you._

It was the time for him to tread cautiously. “If you were to wed, my lady--”

“I wouldn’t--”

He had to drag her deeper into it. “Assuming you encountered a situation similar to mine that compelled you to--” he didn’t blink, didn’t want to miss even the slightest flicker of a reaction “--would you, then, give into the bonds of matrimony?”

Her hand shook, the little tremors drifting down his body. “I would.”

“I wonder what man would tolerate you--”

Breaking out of his hold, she shrank away. “If this dance is no more than a chance for you to relive our early days--”

“I would.”

She frowned, blinking in confusion.

“I would tolerate you, Brienne,” he said softly. “I did, for months, didn’t I?”

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the flutes and harps ceased to play and the couples began to disperse. “Ser Jaime, I must leave. It’s quite late and I must be up early at dawn.”

She made to leave, but he tugged at her hand. “You and I.” His voice was down to a whisper. “Don’t we make a wonderful pair?”

“Us?”

“Why not?” he tried again. “Neither of us are going to find anyone better than each other. We’ve proved that we can get along together, although arguments would take up a good part of our life.” He smiled, looking back at the countless instances they’d nearly bitten each other’s heads off. “That is one small problem we'd have to live with--”

“Ser Jaime--”

“We can ride off together to find Sansa and fulfil our oath,” he dreamily went on. “And once we’ve returned her to her brother, we can retire to the Rock or Tarth, wherever you wish and make a line of heirs to please both our fathers.”

Warmth, though laced with thin slivers of uncertainty, he found in her eyes, a sign that she was slowly, but surely succumbing. “You jest, ser.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “I do not. And”-- his stomach did a lurch “--my offer still stands. I'd be more than happy to be your service.”

“What offer?”

His mind went back to the day his body had first reacted to her presence. “To overpower you, fling you down--”

“Oh, shut your mouth,” she scolded, before he could finish, but he was sure he could see the beginnings of a shy smile on her lips.

“Isn’t that how you’d like our wedding night to unfold?” Heat began to pool in the pit of his stomach and he came closer again, a bit too close for a public audience. “Brienne, do not torment me anymore. _Please_ \--”

She squirmed under his grasp. “Let go of me. Someone might be watching.”

“Make haste and give me an answer then, for you shall be free only after--”

He trailed away when he caught sight of Cersei’s eyes on him. Wary of what his sister was capable of, he let go of Brienne’s hand and stepped aside, but before he put himself out of her earshot, he discreetly whispered, “Go now. But when you reach that door, if you turn around and look at me, I’ll take it as a yes.”

Flustered, she made to leave without a word of acknowledgement for what he’d said.

“The one who resides in my heart.” 

His words had their intended effect. She stopped to listen.

“She doesn’t have to be jealous of anyone, Brienne.” He closed the gap between them. “Not Margaery.” When a group of men blocked them from Cersei’s view, he seized the chance and took her hand. “Not even Cersei.” He brushed his lips to her knuckles and withdrew before their onlookers could make out. “No one.”

A nervous flutter of her pretty lashes was all he got. Then she was gone. Gone without an answer.

Jaime waited with bated breath, watching her wade through the crowd and make it to the entrance. Not once did she slow down on her way out, nor did she even spare him a glance.

Dejected, he was about to make his way to his brother when she abruptly froze, her fist clenched to a ball. His heart skipped a beat, the people around him, the noise, diminishing to a puff of nothing. He stood there, hoping… wishing. 

_Look at me, wench._

Then she turned, her eyes straight into his, shining and eloquent with emotions, her face, a deep red and radiant, her smile, the prettiest he’d seen on any woman.

Beside himself with joy and relief, Jaime smiled back at her. He would have to have a word with his father right away. 

It was time to make sure he brought home the right bride.


End file.
